The Fringe Series Omnibus

by Rachel Aukes

  However, Barrett had seen enough to know there was far more life on Playa than Parliament believed. The Caliban’s scanners had picked up ships landing and launching a few hundred miles from where Ice Port had stood. Only a handful of ships in the Collective had the ability to launch without the assistance of space docks, which meant there was likely an unknown space dock on Playa’s surface.

  He suspected that he’d discovered the torrent base, but he wanted to be careful with that knowledge until he better understood the approach that would be best for the entire system. He’d announced to the tech who’d caught the first signals that they were relief aid workers and to mark the area off as a relief zone, exempting it from further scans. That order could earn him another demotion if the wrong person found out. He trusted the tech because she was a conscript, but he knew both Laciam and Heid had spies on board the Caliban, reporting all of Barrett’s actions to their leaders.

  He missed the Littorio. He’d led that crew for years and knew who could be trusted. Unfortunately, that warship was now commanded by someone under Heid’s thumb, while Barrett had an aged destroyer with an inexperienced crew of unknown loyalties. The only positive in his current situation was that he didn’t have to sit under the Unity’s shadow. At least, out here in the black, he felt at relative peace.

  His comm screen chimed again, and he took a deep breath before tapping the Accept button.

  Laciam’s smug, Myrad features filled the screen. “Commandant Anders, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t answer.”

  “My apologies, Corps General. I had a problem in Engineering to address. The Caliban’s over fifty years old, and I have systems erroring out every day.”

  “All ships in the Collective Unified Forces are maintained per regulations,” Laciam recited.

  “I’m sure we’re just experiencing glitches,” Barrett said. “At least it keeps the crew busy. They get antsy with nothing to do.”

  “It’s your lucky day, Commandant. I have a mission for you.”

  Barrett tensed. “The Caliban is at your disposal.”

  “Of course it is,” Laciam said before continuing. “I have received intel that Vym Patel, a known torrent leader, survived the bombing of Ice Port and is still on Playa.”

  “Do you have a location?”

  “I am sending the coordinates to you now.”

  Barrett pulled up the map over Laciam’s face to find what he’d expected: a circle around the secret space dock in the canyon range. “Would you like me to send patrols to verify?”

  “No need. I have confidence in the intel.” Laciam’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever seen any activity in that area?”

  Laciam was a lousy liar—it was obvious his spies had already apprised him the Caliban had picked up signals in that area. However, if Laciam admitted such, he’d be admitting he spied on his own officers. Barrett spoke smoothly. “Yes. I picked up minor civilian activity. I had follow-up scans conducted, but everything checked out as relief ships. I gave it little more thought since CAHP ships are the only ones sanctioned to enter Playa’s airspace.”

  “Commandant,” Laciam said with a thick tone of condescension. “Those weren’t CAHP ships. Those were torrent ships, and you should’ve blasted them out of the sky.”

  “My apologies.”

  Laciam waved him off. “There’s a reason you were demoted. You don’t have good judgment. A good officer would’ve seen through their ruse.”

  “What is the mission?” Barrett asked, trying to keep the comm—and Laciam’s reprimands—as brief as possible.

  “You are to bomb the coordinates and then personally verify that no torrents are left alive on the surface.”

  “In that zone,” Barrett added.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to clarify that I am to verify that there are no survivors on the surface in the bomb zone; not that there are no survivors on the surface of Playa.”

  Laciam scowled. “Of course, that’s what I meant. The stretches aren’t a threat to us, so there’s no need to use valuable resources in eradicating them.”

  “Understood. I can initiate the mission today and apprise you of the results within thirty hours.”

  Laciam gave a nod. “You do that, and I expect logs of the full operation at the time of your report-in.”

  “Of course. I’ll talk with you tomorrow,” Barrett said.

  Laciam cut the feed, and the screen went blank.

  Barrett leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. Laciam had no leadership skills. His lineage and connections with the right people were the only reasons the Myrad was an officer rather than a tech tucked away in a back room. Gabriela Heid should’ve killed Laciam when he was her first officer rather than set him and the others loyal to him adrift in a patrol ship. Her act of kindness was now causing Barrett many headaches.

  He pushed to his feet and headed to the bridge. There, he stood for a long moment, watching the ice world in the view panel spanning the bridge’s entire front wall. Playa was the smallest of the Collective worlds. It was also the coldest, with temperatures never reaching as high as zero degrees Celsius. With its red patches of algae-like tholins, Playa looked almost welcoming, but Barrett had no desire to stand on its frigid surface. However, that was exactly what he’d be doing shortly.

  He sighed and took his captain’s chair. He then tapped the intercom button on the screen in front of him to speak to everyone on board. “Crew of the Caliban, this is your captain speaking. We have received a mission from Corps General Laciam that we will carry out today. All second shift crew will be active during the mission, with third shift on standby. We have received the coordinates of a possible torrent target, which we are to bomb posthaste. The coordinates have been fed to all squad leaders’ and officers’ wrist comms. From now until after the mission, I’m declaring a communications blackout so there’s no risk of torrents on the ground picking up any incoming or outgoing comms. In the meantime, be patient and be prepared. The Collective is counting on us.”

  “Is a blackout wise, sir?” Johns, a communications tech, asked. “If CUF Command can’t reach us, they may worry the torrents destroyed our ship.”

  Barrett eyed the tech. So, you’re the spy. “I have reason to believe the torrents are monitoring our comms. Even though our comms are encrypted, if the torrents see increased chatter coming from a ship that’s been sitting quiet, they may get suspicious.”

  “Of course, sir,” Johns replied quickly.

  Barrett strode over to the tech who’d picked up the original signals from the canyon. “Tully, per standard procedure, I need you to log the mission.”

  “Of course, sir,” she replied.

  “Afterward, we’ll review it together before sending. Understood?”

  She frowned but then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Barrett patted her shoulder and then met with each of his officers to finalize plans. When he’d finished, he stood at the center of the bridge as the first phase cannon blast blazed a path toward Playa.

  “Should I fire again, captain?” the gunner asked.

  “No,” Barrett replied. “Give it some time.”

  “Sir, I’m picking up a launch,” Tully announced.

  “Should I fire upon it?” the gunner asked.

  Barrett set a timer. “No. They’re evacuating. That ship is likely full of refugees. Do you want us on the news for killing a ship full of women and children?”

  “No, sir.”

  Barrett wasn’t disobeying orders; he was simply following them precisely as Laciam had laid them out. Bomb the coordinates, Finish off any survivors on the surface. Laciam had mentioned nothing about engaging ships. He knew Laciam would hear about it, but Barrett’s career had stalled the moment Heid demoted him. Laciam could court-martial him, but that would enrage the silent majority already in favor of peace. Barrett could always pull a Gabriela Heid and run off with his ship. But that wasn’t his style.

  The bridge crew threw anxious glances his
way while they waited in silence for their next order. Four minutes later, another ship launched. A single slingshot launchpad, then.

  “Sir?” the gunner asked.

  “Let it pass. Our mission is to disable infrastructure, not target civilians,” Barrett said. He set the timer again. Four minutes later, another ship launched, and he let it pass.

  The citizens looked at him with slack-jawed expressions of shock while the conscripts eyed him as though they were trying to figure him out.

  “You fired a warning shot so they could escape,” Johns said. Barrett eyed the technician, and Johns added on, “Sir.”

  “A word, Johns,” Barrett said.

  Without waiting for a response, he led the way to the planning room just off the bridge. As soon as the pair stepped inside and the door closed, Barrett turned on the technician.

  “You have a problem following my orders, Johns?” Barrett asked.

  “No, sir. I’m only concerned that we’re letting torrents escape,” he said in a rush.

  “We could be, but it’s worth the risk.”

  “What risk? You think bad publicity could hurt public opinion of the war? We’ve already won. We’re just tying up loose ends.”

  Barrett chuckled. “You really think that? Until the war is over, there are no winners. And public opinion matters, in time of peace and especially in time of war. But that’s not the risk I was referring to. I’m talking about mutiny.”

  Johns frowned.

  Barrett gave him a hard look. “Seventy-eight percent of this crew are colonists. We were walking a fine line before, having them police those who could be their own relatives. When we extended their terms of service, we crossed that line. The conscripts are seconds away from taking over the Caliban, and there’s little we could do to stop it, not if they have it planned out. If we bombed fringe ships with innocents on board, I can guarantee you and I and every other citizen on this ship will be drifting out there with the debris not long after. Do you understand now?”

  Johns swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  Johns was cocky, like so many other citizens. He’d never been required to do anything. He’d chosen to join the CUF. He could never understand what being conscripted meant to a colonist. The ratio of colonists to citizens on every ship was similar. Every commandant, and the Corps General especially, should be shaking in their boots. They likely never even considered that the greatest risk to the CUF was already aboard their ships.

  Barrett walked to the door, pausing before opening it. “Oh, and Johns?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “If you send one more comm to Laciam without me seeing it first, I’ll drift you myself.”

  Johns blanched.

  Barrett turned and headed back to the bridge. He checked his timer. Six minutes had passed. “Have any other ships launched?”

  “No, sir,” Tully announced.

  He turned to the gunner. “Fire at will.”

  “That’s the last ship,” Jed Baptiste said as he pushed back from the launchpad controls.

  “I don’t know who’s commanding that destroyer, but fate smiled on us today,” Vym said as she gripped his shoulder. “I’m still finding it hard to believe we were able to launch everyone. May their journey to Nova Colony be as fortuitous as their departure from here.”

  Jed stood and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I wish you would’ve gone with them.”

  She harrumphed. “And leave you to run the launchpad on your own? You know me, I could never stand to not micromanage.”

  His smile grew. “I couldn’t help but notice that you did look over my shoulder the entire time.”

  He bent down and kissed her. She pulled him tight against her, and they stood there in a love-felt embrace.

  “I knew Mason would eventually find me,” she said, referring to Gabriel Heid by his Founder code name.

  “But not before we finished the Matador.”

  She smiled. “Yes, that’s the future.”

  She pressed her head against his shoulder, and they began to dance to an unwritten love song that played perfectly in their minds.

  A bright flash of light filled the room, then nothing.

  Nine

  Bad News Travels at Lightning Speed

  New Sol, Darios

  “We lost Tulan Base,” Seda said, his somber mood clear even through the comm screen.

  Reyne felt the blood drain from his face. “All those people…”

  “We got lucky. Nearly everyone was evacuated. They’re on their way to Nova Colony as we speak.” Seda gave Reyne a pained look. “Vym and Jed stayed at the launch controls to make sure everyone got out in time. I’m sorry. I know you were close.”

  “It’s not the first time she died,” Reyne said flippantly, before sobering. “At least she was with Jed when the time came.”

  There was a lengthy pause before Seda spoke. “Fortunately we were in the process of moving everything from there to Darios. Our material losses could’ve been a lot worse. As it is, we lost a printer and two warehouses full of munitions, not to mention three tons of food. But if we’d been one week later in moving the stocked Matador and two printers…”

  “It’s still a major loss,” Reyne countered. “We’re down to just one launchpad that the droms don’t know about, and New Sol won’t stay a secret for long. There’s been so much activity, it’s just a matter of time before the CUF’s onto us.”

  “You just have to hold out until we can retake Sol Base.”

  Reyne blew out a breath. “Well, we’ve been wondering about when they’d switch gears from focusing on the fringe stations to hunting us down. Are you safe?”

  “No one’s safe, but I’m in the safest place I can be. Only a handful of people know this asteroid exists, and even fewer people know its location. You and Critch are at a greater risk of being found.”

  “I’m not that important. You’re the one holding the fringe together.”

  Seda belted out a loud laugh. “I’m just playing the role of politician right now. I put on a strong face and tell a good story, but everyone knows the two torrent marshals are what’s keeping us fighting.”

  Reyne smiled. “You are a politician with the stories you weave.” His features straightened. “I’m loading the Henry Fitzroy with food and several techs to help you out with the code we need for Silent Night.”

  “Good. Give Will my coordinates just before he launches. The less anyone who’s on the ground here knows, the safer we all are.” He paused briefly. “I want you to know, I’m also pulling in a hacker to help.”

  Reyne frowned. “Not the same one who designed Mason’s program that killed Gabriela?”

  Seda pursed his lips before speaking. “Vapor? Yeah, the one and the same. She’s the best hacker in the Collective and can be trusted as long as you’re the highest bidder.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “Then you can trust her to screw you over.” Seda swallowed. “She’s a risk, but she’s a known risk. We need the code, and if anyone can work it out in time, it’s Vapor.”

  Reyne gave him a doubtful look.

  The corners of Seda’s lips curled. “Trust me, I don’t plan to let her off the hook for killing Gabriela. The way I see it, Vapor’s just as responsible as Mason is for her death.”

  Reyne nodded in agreement before changing the subject. “Any word on Critch and Throttle?”

  “Everything’s on track. They should make it to Myr tomorrow.”

  His back ached with tension. Two high-risk missions in play at the same time meant stress clung to him and seeped heavily into his gut. “I have eight specters here for the operation, but if Critch needs the firepower…”

  “They won’t be able to help him. You, however, need all the firepower you can get. I can see what else I can scrounge up if you need.”

  “I sure wouldn’t turn anything down.” Reyne stretched his legs to relieve the tension, but it did no good. “If you can find something, make it sooner versus late
r. With the CUF switching gears, we’ve got to be ready. Wish me luck; I’m off to talk with Hatha about bumping up our timeline.”

  Ten

  Strange Bedfellows

  Space, outside Myr’s EMP net

  “Linking in three… two… one…” Throttle’s words were followed by a loud sound of metal latching onto metal.

  Critch unbuckled and was out of his seat before the safety lights turned green. Nearby, less than a mile away, the Ocelot was still going through the same linking procedures with a ship identical to the one the Scorpia had just attached to.

  Throttle smiled as she ran her hands over her screens, likely running more safety checks. “I’ve never flown a Dirac before. I heard they’re so advanced, they practically fly themselves. Think they’ll let me take the controls?”

  “Not a chance. You’re a colonist; they’re citizens,” Critch said. When she scowled, he added, “You could just take it.”

  She watched him for a second before her lips curled upward. She was considering it. He wondered if he should be proud or worried about guiding Reyne’s daughter toward a life of piracy.

  She turned back to her screen and tapped the intercom. “Eddy, all checks are clear. The Scorpia’s yours until I get back. Take good care of her.”

  “You got it, boss,” came a response via the intercom.

  Critch glanced at Birk, who was checking his weapons. The younger man didn’t seem one bit bothered that the crew was looking to Throttle as the captain rather than to Birk. Not that Critch was surprised. Birk had been the best right hand he’d had, but the man had never showed much interest in leading a crew. Throttle obviously did.

  Throttle pushed back in her wheelchair and stood, holding the armrest until she became steady on her feet. Critch did a double take, then realized she was wearing powered leg braces.

  He motioned toward the devices that allowed her to move without a chair. “How’re they working for you?”